20,000 Nerds Under the Sea (8 page)

“SO, WE'RE IN A SUBMARINE,” SAID BIGGS, HIS LEGS BENT
to fit. “A submarine that is stuck somewhere in the ocean, surrounded by sharks, and we don't have to be at school until tomorrow. What's next?”

Biggs was right. It was probably noon, and regular life continued tomorrow morning. The team paused as the sub's propellers continued to hum. The pod was controlled by a simple joystick and two buttons—one to stop, the other to go. It was like a prehistoric video game.

They coasted through open water, with schools of
small translucent fish wriggling alongside. Various sizes and species of sharks swam past, coming close enough to investigate.

“And what do we do about Jolly?” asked Sam.

Neil wasn't sure, but he knew getting away was the priority.

“Let's take things one step at a time. For instance, how far can this thing get us? Can't imagine there's much fuel in an escape pod,” Neil said. He scanned the controls for some kind of fuel monitor, but there was nothing to be seen.

Sam read from a GPS. “Well, we're somewhere in the Pacific, pretty far out, though. We definitely don't have enough fuel to make it back to California.”

“Unless we—” Neil said, thinking aloud. “Nah, it'd be too much of a long shot.”

“No, say it,” Biggs answered. “Whatcha thinking? Does it involve a family of friendly sea lions? 'Cause if so, we're on the same wavelength.”

“Ha,” Neil laughed. “Biggs, don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not sure anybody will ever be on your same wavelength.”

“Good—I don't want it to get crowded.”

“But I was thinking,” Neil continued. “We've got to be close to that island with Harris's warehouse, right?”

“Neil Andertol, you're a genius!” Sam said.

“Now I'm not totally sure, but I think we could find it,” Neil continued. “If we only knew the coordinates.”

“Done,” Sam said proudly.

“What?” Neil asked. Sam rested her hand over a tiny numeric keypad on the ship's control panel.

“Latitude and longitude are plugged in. After our Chameleon mission, I went online to try and find the island from a satellite,” she said. “You could barely see it, but I memorized the coordinates, just in case we ever had the chance to go back.”

“Well done, soldier,” said Neil as he watched a flashing dot appeared on the radar.

“That's where we need to be,” said Sam. “Now let's just hope this little thing can get us there.”

“Oh, there's a radio,” Neil said. “Maybe this one works.”

He found the simple switch for the radio. The small speaker sizzled to life. “We need to let somebody know what a maniac Jolly Rogers is.”

Neil held on to the plastic receiver of the radio,
which was tethered to the control panel by a spiral black rubber cord. “Hello? Anybody there?”

There was no response, so Neil unplugged it.

“Just in case she's tracking us or something,” Neil said. “We'll get in touch with the others once we get to Harris's place.”

He looked at the console holding the radio and saw the logo for Harris's family company, Beed Industries.

“Interesting,” Neil mumbled. Soon, the small chain of islands began to appear on the sub's radar.

“There they are!” said Neil. “Sam Gonzales, you are a genius.”

“I just hope we can get there,” she said.

As the escape pod charged toward the chain of small islands, it began to sputter. There'd been barely any fuel in the tank when they'd started, and now it was bone-dry. The sub slowly coasted forward only off momentum.

The lights of the cockpit dimmed as the sub started to sink.

“Uh-oh, c'mon, baby,” said Biggs, tapping the dashboard of the small submarine. Amazingly, the craft mustered one final push forward. Their heads jerked forward as they collided nosefirst with the sandy shore of
the smallest island in the chain. Neil opened the hatch leading out and fought small waves as the cockpit filled with water. The three splashed out of the submarine and crawled to the shore. They lay out on their backs, all of them still pulsing with adrenaline.

“I've never felt so happy to be on a beach,” said Sam. Neil, and his stomach, agreed. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the warm sun beat down on his face. He heard a familiar ostrich noise and opened his eyes.

“Hey, this is Weo's place!” Neil said, excitedly looking around. It was a place Neil had crash-landed on before. “He can help us get in touch with somebody.”

If anyone will help us, it's Weo. Unless he's riding an ostrich somewhere. Then this could get interesting.

“We could even make a phone call from Penny's Pizza,” Neil said, his nerves settling at the thought of delicious pineapple. “I think I know how to get us there.”

After twenty minutes of cutting through thorny trees, the group reached the vine net Neil had once called home for a few hours.

“No way, it's still here!” Neil said. The netting was overgrown with moss and looked like it was now a nest for a small family of birds. Weo's tree house was in a
similar condition. Vines were beginning to wind their way between the wooden slats of the floor.

“Weo!” Neil yelled as Sam and Biggs finally caught up. “Weo?” There was no answer, apart from the song of the island's tropical birds.

Neil was getting a bit worried.

He walked toward the wooden ladder that led to the tree house. As he climbed each rung, it groaned under his body weight. Neil reached the top and walked the handmade gangplank, his shoes kicking dust through the cracks of wooden slats. It looked like nobody had been there in years—even though Neil had visited six months ago.

“Maybe he's somewhere else,” Neil shouted down to Sam and Biggs. “It's empty.”

“Or maybe this whole place is deserted?” said Sam. “I don't see too many signs of life. Unless you count the monkeys that keep trying to steal my hair bands.”

“Let's continue looking around,” Neil answered. “Where else could he be? You don't think anything . . . bad happened?”

The three climbed down from the tree house and walked to the top of the island's rocky hill. They looked
toward Harris's island. A chorus of birds squawked from across the small channel of water.

The ostriches had migrated from Weo's island to the Feather Duster warehouse and had taken over. Ostriches poked around the island's open spaces, leaving things filthy, covered with eggshells and bird droppings.

“Let's start hoofing it,” Neil said. Neil could feel the sun beginning to crisp his fair skin. Still wearing the white uniform from Reboot Robiskie's party yacht, Neil Andertol began to walk over the sandbars leading to the home of the Feather Duster warehouse.

Neil knew finding his friend could at least help solve the problem of getting home. Where there was Weo, you were bound to find Harris. Where there was Harris, there was a private jet.

We can also see what he knows about Jolly, and why Beed Industries helped build that submarine.

THE FEATHER DUSTER WAREHOUSE SMELLED LIKE NEIL'S
garage, dusty and full of smelly fertilizer. Neil could see a single light filtering out through a window on the second floor.

“Do you think that's the main office? Who could be up there?” Neil asked, getting the creeps.

“Maybe it's Mr. Beed?” Sam suggested.

They headed toward a freight elevator bay and pushed the up arrow. The doors opened and closed with a pleasant chime.

The lift offered two buttons:
W
, the floor they were on, and
P
.

“Ooh, where to go?” said Biggs, stepping alongside Neil in the elevator.

“Gotta be the presidential suite,” said Biggs, who pushed the
P
button with an excited finger. They started to move up. “If Mr. Beed is there, this could be a good time to get some feedback on the smell technology he bought from me. I've been trying to set up a meeting for months.”

Neil glanced at his watch. It was seven
P.M.
back home in Colorado. After some quick mental math, he realized he had roughly twelve hours to save every living shark before getting to homeroom. He probably needed to give his parents an update, too.

Ding.

The silver doors of the elevator rushed open to reveal a plush office. It was shaped like a lima bean and had blue shag carpeting. Every surface was covered in ostrich knickknacks. Pictures. Figurines. Slippers. In the center of the room was an L-shaped yellow couch that had ostrich legs for armrests. A single ostrich-shaped lamp gave the room an eerie glow.

Neil, Sam, and Biggs walked toward the mahogany desk. A leather chair with a tall back was turned away from them.

“Uh, hello, President Beed?” said Biggs. “My name is Robert Starlight Hurbigg, and I'm here to talk smells and sharks.”

There was no response. They walked around the desk to see the chair was empty.

“President Beed?” Biggs continued. From behind a closed door came the sound of water splashing in a sink.

“Somebody's in the bathroom,” Neil whispered.

Before they could hide, the bathroom door opened.

“Weo?” blurted Neil.

The boy who walked out looked startled.

“No way! Neil!” said Weo. He wore fresh jeans and a yellow button-down shirt with the Feather Duster logo stitched on its front. His hair was nicely trimmed, and he flashed an electric smile. He looked good, as if he'd been sleeping indoors or something.

“What happened to the tree house?”

“Well, I'm in here now,” Weo said. “The islands had an earthquake not too long ago, and the house was feeling sketchy. And all the killer surf got destroyed. It's
nothing but rocky shore now, so everybody bailed.”

Weo sat down in the padded chair behind the comically large desk.

“So what happened with Harris?”

“Things are good with me and Harris, but a lot of employees left once the pizza place closed.”

Neil let out an involuntary gasp. “No!”

“Penny's Pizza closed?” Biggs said, defeated.

“Yeah, I know it's a tragedy. Penny found another island where she could set up shop,” Weo said. “And Harris wanted to spend less time here and needed somebody to manage the facility. I'm in charge of the whole warehouse right now.”

He twirled his hand in a circle. Neil looked at the boy's desk. It had only a framed picture of Weo and Harris and a bronze rectangular nameplate that read
PRESIDENT AND WEO
.

“You're in charge now? At least that's awesome news!” Neil congratulated him. “The place looks much nicer than before.”

“Thanks,” said Weo. He cocked his head to the side. “So what are you guys doing here? Again?”

“It's a long story,” said Neil. “But we need to get
home as soon as possible. And talk to our friends, and alert international shark authorities—and the president.”

Weo gave him a puzzled look.

“A crazy girl named Jolly is out in the ocean somewhere right now, trying to capture every shark in existence.”

“What? Like, every shark?” gasped Weo. “That would destroy sea life as we know it.”

“And she's got some kind of secret ketchup to trap them. We've got to stop her before she goes through with her plan,” Neil explained.

“Weo, can we use your phone?” asked Sam. “I should also tell my parents I won't make dinner. And figure out what my excuse is for why I'm late. . . .”

“You guys are more than free to use anything,” Weo said. He pointed to the black phone on his desk.

“Thanks—you're a lifesaver,” said Sam. She picked up the phone while Neil and Biggs continued talking with Weo.

“Weo, I'm not sure if I'm doing this right, but I don't think the phone's working,” said Sam.

“That's odd,” Weo said. He walked next to Sam and investigated. “Yeah, no dial tone or anything.”

Weo turned to his computer and attempted to go online or view email.

“Weird,” Weo said. “Looks like everything is down.”

“It's Jolly,” said Neil. “I bet she's blocking all signals so that we can't contact anyone. Our radio on the sub didn't work either!”

“I'd offer to take you all home, really, but I can't leave,” Weo said. “In case anything goes wrong around here, I have to stick around—but . . .”

The boy cocked his head, as if he was listening for a distant noise.

“But I might know someone who can take you guys. Come with me.”

Weo walked to the rooftop terrace adjacent to his office. Neil, Biggs, and Sam followed Weo outside. It was covered in vibrant plant life and looked out over the small chain of islands. The sound of a jet engine filled the afternoon air.

A Beed Industries private jet landed on the roof's small landing strip. Its engines were slowly winding down as the rear passenger door popped open. A skinny frame filled the doorway as Harris poked his head outside.

“Weo, my good man,” said Harris. His arms were
full of RebootCon gift bags. “Come give me a hand with these, will you? I think I snagged every game coming out for the next two years.”

Harris dropped his armload of bags when he finally saw the crowd that was with Weo.

“Whoa, fancy seeing you guys here,” Harris said, wiping a few smudges from his sunglasses. “You guys have a good night? Sink Reboot's yacht?”

“Quit the friendly act, Harris,” said Neil. Harris looked startled.

“Lovely seeing you as well, Neil.”

Neil was angry that his friend could betray him.

“Tell us everything you know about Jolly Rogers,” Neil demanded. “Or else.”